


cold seeps into my bones

by xenorosis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Gen, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Tortured Sherlock Holmes, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:46:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenorosis/pseuds/xenorosis
Summary: Sherlock, alone in Serbia. It's never good when he's left with nothing but his thoughts.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	cold seeps into my bones

Sherlock huddled against the cold wall. He had been stuck in this bloody cell somewhere in remote Serbia for god knows how long. At some point the cold had seeped into his very bones. 

_(He couldn't remember exactly when and that was a problem wasn't it?)_

His body had stopped shivering long ago, which he knew was a bad thing, but he had buried himself so deep in his mind palace he just didn't care. His body was merely a vessel after all. Temporary. Unimportant. 

It didn't help matters that it was so easy to lose himself in his head either. He seemed to have done a bit too good of a job cataloguing and filing away every bit of information he could on John Watson. Wonderful, brave, caring John. Who thought he was dead. 

( _He'd have to fix that.)_

Sherlock couldn't wait to be done and over with this mission, to get back to Baker Street where John was surely waiting for him. 

Right now though, he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to soothe the burning ache of sleep deprivation. Then he forced them open again because to fall asleep now would be a terrible miscalculation on his part. It really wouldn't do to be caught unawares when his captor returned. Which, if Sherlock's memory and deductions were to be trusted,

_(And of course they could be trusted, his current condition couldn't affect his mental capacity **that** much. It couldn't, what else did he have left. No home, no warmth, no John, no, nonono don't think like that delete delete delete)_

would be soon. That brutish man 

_(whose wife was cheating on him with the coffin maker, Sherlock needed to remember that, it would prove to be useful, he was sure. It was all part of the plan, only he wasn't completely sure how all the pieces fit together but that couldn't be right, Sherlock Holmes never forgot a thing. Never nevernevernever—)_

would return to torture him pointlessly for information. Honestly, why they bothered was a mystery. Did they not realize they were getting nowhere? 

Sherlock leaned his head back against the rough stone of the cell. He glanced down at his hands, fingers pale and spindly, like an arachnid. They were shaking, a jarring reminder of the fact that he _—_ despite his intellect, despite how different, wrong, he felt compared to others _—_ was still human. 

He let out a shuddery laugh, despairing. 

_If only John could see him now. The brilliant Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, cowering, alone, afraid._

Alone in a dark cell, Sherlock's fragile laughter gave way to weak sobs, shaky hands grasping for something, someone

_(Johnjohnjohnjohn)_

to save him. 

**Author's Note:**

> so day 1 of whumptober 2019 was shaky hands and i wrote this but never posted it. there's no time like the present right? might post some of the other days too. we'll see what happens.


End file.
